


Fallout

by tarakai714



Series: Subdued [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarakai714/pseuds/tarakai714
Summary: An intruder and a bloody encounter
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Subdued [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825081
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Fallout

Will keeps on course, relying on his knowledge of the premises. He started running as often as possible when Hannibal finally deemed him strong enough. Will did not expect to become obsessed with it. At first he would circle the green fields that surrounded the main house, eying the nearby woods. Soon Will lost count of the number of times he had to fall back on his combat training to reorient himself toward the main house. So now that he is chasing an intruder, he knows when and where he is going to catch him. Will focuses on his breathing and listens carefully for changes in the other’s hurried footfalls on the muddy trail. The man is zigzagging evidently, hoping to find an appropriate hiding spot, or a lucky way out. Will knows he is going to fail, so he keeps running.

There is a clearing that doubles as a loading zone and a secret exit, far enough from the main gate that no outsider would suspect its existence. It is perfectly situated at the edge of their estate, where a stretch of woods falls into their perimeters. Hannibal has told Will about the city’s interest to cut into the land and gain possession of this area to expand local infrastructure. But he treasures the exclusive access to the roads and thus keeps refusing their offers. When they first moved to this estate, Will was in awe of the safety and privacy it provided. The underground tunnels—remnants of the occupation period of WWII—were particularly a source of pride for Hannibal. He had been visiting the property annually for _vacation_ , each time upgrading the building, making it more attuned to his specific proclivities.

The structure of the protruding exit of the tunnels is covered in foliage but Will, Hannibal, and Chiyoh know how and where to locate the cement wall. They use a golf cart for transportation from the opening to the basement of the main house. Will has left the premises through this exit on two occasions. Once, when they had to leave for Berlin to collect some documents from one of Hannibal’s contacts, and a second time, when Will woke up feverish, insisting that there were people outside the main house and they had to leave ASAP through the tunnels. Both times Chiyoh was waiting just down the road to pick them up.

When he gets to the clearing, Will presses his back to the cement wall, thankful for the way his green and black jogging ensemble provides the perfect camouflage. His chest still heaves, but he can feel his heartbeat slow. He reaches for his phone, calls Hannibal and slips it back in his pocket. By now the sensors must have alerted Hannibal of the sudden intrusion, but this way he will know what to expect.

“Will?”

A choked grunt escapes Will’s throat before he can answer, as he throws his weight across the clearing, tackling the stranger to the ground. There is shuffling on the end of the line: “can you tell me where you are?” Hannibal’s voice is calm, as if this is a casual conversation in the kitchen, with each of them busy with a mundane task. Will shoves the intruder against the ground but loses his footing when the man turns in his grasp and throws a punch. Will ducks in time but the next punch lands on his bad shoulder and he doubles over, reeling from the pain. This, as embarrassing as it may be, turns into an opportunity for him to get the upper hand. The intruder is momentarily stunned, and hesitates just for a moment, perhaps wondering if he should run or stay to fight. Will charges at him and once again knocks him to the ground, falling on his knees over him and looping his good arm around his neck.

“I am on my way.”

He knows that Hannibal still has not had his coffee. When Will goes running in the morning, Hannibal often waits for him to come back so they can have breakfast together. Hannibal’s voice is rough and conveys a sense of concern, just a hint. But it is the comforting timbre of it that distracts Will. The intruder uses this opportunity to elbow Will sharply in the ribs, sending him toppling back. Will is not sure if the earpiece has fallen off or his eardrum has burst, for one moment he has the guy in a chokehold and the next his own head is being smashed against a rock. The sound that reverberates in his head could be either of his skull being split or of the rocks gliding against each other upon impact. But Will still has his wits about him, even though his mouth is filling with blood. He fumbles with his fingers grasping the man’s windbreaker and spits out a mouthful of blood, realizing he has bit his tongue.

Will pushes the man off with a blunt knee to his groin and raises himself enough to bring a swaying fist to his throat. He feels the warm trickle of blood on the nape of his neck and his vision swims. Panic sets in as he realizes he is now too woozy to land a final blow with his now heavy and uncooperative limbs. His arm fails to hold him up any longer and he falls back against the muddy trail. Will feels a hand land gracelessly over his head pressing his face into the mud. He hears a wild beast growl above him and the taste of blood turns earthy and cool in his mouth.

Hannibal disengages the lock and pushes the gate open. His lips tug upward in a snarl and he jogs quickly toward the struggling men on the ground. He grabs the stranger by the shoulder and pulls him off Will, immediately snapping his neck, eyes fixed on Will’s hunched form in the mud the entire time. He lets the body drop to the ground and steps over it to crouch down by Will’s side: “Will? Can you hear me?”

“Stay down. Don’t move,” he says as he cradles Will’s head in one hand and parts his hair gently with the other to assess the damage. Will spits and tries to swallow but is caught in a coughing fit that is only interrupted by retching. Hannibal turns him over, half-lifting him into a sitting position.

“I have you. Slow down your breathing. Don’t try to speak,” he murmurs calmly.

The retching helps. Will wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes closed to the small pool of saliva, dirt, and blood. Hannibal has a steadying hand on his back, hushing him when he tries to speak. “Up,” he says, and without waiting for Will to register the word, he lifts him off and drags him toward the gate. It is a struggle and Will’s greying vision and loosened limbs do not help, but Hannibal manages to get him in. Will must have blacked out for a bit because the next time he becomes aware it is to the sound of the incinerator being locked.

Will is on Hannibal’s table, his head turned to the side to avoid putting pressure on the wound. He has been stripped off his running gear, and is clad only in his boxer shorts. There is a large bath towel underneath him. It comforts him to know that Hannibal has made an effort to differentiate between Will and the others who have been on this table before him, with their bare skin touching the cold stainless steel. Will can see the blue tarp that he assumes Hannibal used to wrap around the body. He wonders what Hannibal is going to do with it. He is still very unfamiliar with Hannibal’s postmortem protocols for his extracurricular activities. Hannibal is quite eager to walk him through them of course, but so far Will has not demonstrated any incentive. 

“When are we leaving?” Will slurs and swallows roughly in an effort to ward off the nausea.

Hannibal steps away from the incinerator upon hearing Will’s hushed voice. He looks at Will with a fond expression, reaching out to swipe his sodden fringe away from his forehead: “we are not. Not immediately.” He walks around the table, sits on a padded stool and wheels himself closer to Will’s head. Hannibal touches Will reverently, mindful of the bruises that might be hidden underneath the dirt and blood: “we are leaving for Krk in a week, as previously scheduled.” He tilts Will’s head for better access to the gash. He administered the local anesthetic before Will came to, so now he has to stitch the wound closed so that he can take Will upstairs to rest. Will shuts his eyes and shivers at the sensation of the needle threading in the back of his scalp. His head throbs but it is not from the wound. Yet, each time, after each tug of the thread, he feels his skin crawl in the nape of his neck. Hannibal soothes the tremors, constantly cupping Will’s neck with his warm callused hand before going back to his delicate task.

“One more,” he says and Will shivers again. “I washed your hair as I flushed your wound when you were unconscious. But once we get upstairs, I will help you take a warm bath.” Will makes a discontented noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head out of Hannibal’s gentle grasp. Hannibal hushes him, holding his head in place as he cuts the end of the thread near his scalp: “Will, you need to have more faith in me in these matters. I assure you, we are quite safe here. Nothing has changed.”

Will’s throat is dry. He thinks of the body in the incinerator as he runs his bitten tongue against his teeth. He can still feel the aftertaste of soil and blood in his mouth.

“Can I have some water?” Will mutters.

“Of course,” replies Hannibal as he brings a paper cup to Will’s lips and helps him tilt his head to take a couple of sips.

“Who was he?” Will slurs, allowing Hannibal to help him up. He is overcome by vertigo as soon as his feet touch the cold cement floor, but Hannibal has already secured an arm around him as he wraps Will in a blanket and helps him to the dumbwaiter in the corner of the room: “An independent contractor.” He holds Will close, running a hand up and down his back. The shock has fully set in now and Will’s skin is cold and clammy to the touch. Hannibal presses a gentle kiss to his temple and Will sighs, leaning further into him. “This is going to draw attention to us.” He runs his hand down his face and winces as his fingers graze his bruised lips: “I fucked up.”

Will’s voice is strained, his tone apologetic. Hannibal takes Will’s hand away from his face and brings it to his own lips, placing a gentle kiss over his cold knuckles: “Don’t do this to yourself, Will. You acted quickly and efficiently.” Hannibal refrains from telling Will how proud he has made him. The dumbwaiter rattles before coming to a halt and Will startles in Hannibal’s arms. “I have you,” Hannibal coos as he leads Will toward the side entrance: “Let’s get you inside.”

Hannibal helps Will get in the tub and uses a wet towel to wipe the dirt and blood off his body before letting the tub fill with warm water. He catalogues Will’s injuries, palpating the bruised area of Will’s rib cage. Now with his skin clean, he can see the nasty bruise darkening by the minute, but Will does not show any signs of the acute pain one associates with broken ribs. He finally stops his ministrations and moves from his crouched position to sit over the edge of the tub: “Chiyoh will stay here to keep watch. She will contact me if there is any further suspicious activity.” Will swallows and nods once without opening his eyes.

Hannibal helps Will into his bathrobe and half carries him to the bed. Will shuts his eyes as soon as his head reaches the towel-wrapped pillow. He feels so tired, and beneath closed lids, his world is spinning. Will wonders if the vertigo will follow him under. He feels Hannibal’s palm rest against his collarbone, fingers splayed, reaching for his pulse point, soothing and warm: “Although your head wound is rather superficial, you may be concussed. So I can’t allow you to sleep deeply for a few hours. But you can nap.” Will hums in response and Hannibal goes on: “I am going downstairs to make us some breakfast. Try to rest.”

Will’s exhale leaves him like a sob but he does not protest. He rolls onto his side and is grateful for the way Hannibal arranges the pillows and covers him up with his comforter. He was actually looking forward to spending the Summer in Krk island. But after this, he worries he may go insane with paranoia if they do not run off into a hole somewhere that is thousands of miles away. He dozes for a little while until Hannibal comes back with breakfast. They eat quietly and Will wants to grumble about the absence of coffee, but he knows that Hannibal is going to make an argument about avoiding caffeine while concussed. Hannibal leaves Will again after checking him over once more, letting Will know that he will be “tidying up the basement.” Will hums in response, not really certain how to feel about that. Before he falls asleep, Will thinks of the blue tarp and his running clothes and wonders if they too are going to end up in the incinerator.

Hannibal comes back upstairs less than an hour later to find Will curled up on his side of the bed. He sits down slowly not to startle him and cards his fingers through Will’s hair: “Will?”

Will startles awake, immediately trying to assume a defensive position. Hannibal strokes his arm as he gently pushes him back against the mattress: “It’s alright, darling. It’s just me.” Will’s eye dart around the room for a few moments until they finally settle on his trembling fingers interlocked with Hannibal’s. He tugs at Hannibal’s hand and lets out a sob. Hannibal looks concerned. He has not seen Will like this since immediately after the fall, when Will was consumed by pain and overwhelmed—almost constantly—by the anxiety of being caught. Hannibal had not known desperation like that since Mischa’s death. Yet, Will had brought back the unfathomable agony of loss when he pleaded with Hannibal to end his life if they were ever to be captured.

Hannibal crawls over the bed, sliding under the covers to wrap himself around Will’s shaking form. He keeps touching Will’s face, running his lips over his warm neck, speaking in a hushed voice: “you’re alright, Will. You are safe.” Will leans against him. He cannot turn in the embrace because every time he tries to twist his torso, pain shoots up his side and all air leaves his lungs. But he clutches at Hannibal’s hand and pleads with him again: “please, Hannibal. I can’t stay here anymore. We need to leave.” Hannibal hushes him, cupping his face: “We will. I will call Chiyoh to make arrangements for an early departure. We leave tonight.” Hannibal holds him until he is calm enough to let his hand go. He stays with Will in the bedroom until he starts to doze again, and only then he gets up to contact Chiyoh.


End file.
